12 Shark Against Man 



a tug of war with the shark, ripping Joseph's flesh to save his life. For a 

 moment or two, the shark hung on. Then, suddenly, Joseph was free. 

 The shark had let go— and vanished. Its third victim in less than an 

 hour had been snatched from death. 



In St. Peter's Hospital, hope was high that Joseph Dunn's life would 

 be saved, but saving his torn leg— slashed with tooth marks, a major 

 tendon severed, muscles badly mangled— seemed hopeless. Dr. R. J. 

 Faulkingham, on general surgical service at the hospital, was given the 

 case. 



All that night and into the morning, Matawan Creek was the scene 

 of an orgy of vengeance. Blast after blast of dynamite sent geysers of 

 water and fish skyward. Hundreds of men lined both banks, armed 

 with scythes, pitchforks, and old harpoons taken from hving-room walls. 

 By lantern light and by the first glimmer of dawn, men fired shotguns 

 and pistols into the creek. At low tide, men waded into the water with 

 knives— and even hammers. 



The creek was soon laced with tangles of chicken wire and fishing 

 nets. Newspaper reporters and photographers swarmed into Matawan, 

 and one newspaper proclaimed that it had organized a shark-hunt— a 

 boat loaded to the gunwales with men carrying rifles. Extra-large charges 

 of dynamite were set off for the benefit of newsreel cameras. Stores in 

 Matawan and Keyport ran out of explosives and ammunition. A special 

 order was sent to Perth Amboy, New Jersey, for more. 



"We've got a shark!" a man shouted here . . . then there. Reports 

 came in with the tide: one shark, two sharks, three sharks, four sharks 

 were trapped in Matawan Creek. With the outgoing tide went reports 

 that shark after shark had escaped from Matawan Creek. 



The only respite from the frenzy at the creek came when Matawan 

 buried its dead. The boys who had been the last to see Lester Stilwell 

 aUve bore him to his grave. At the First Methodist Church on Main 

 Street, Stanley Fisher's voice was missing from the choir that mourned 

 him. But his memory would live on in the church. With the money from 

 the new insurance policy he had so strangely acquired, Stanley's parents 

 purchased a stained glass window— a landscape of Bethlehem. In the 

 years to come, the rays of the setting sun would filter through the window 

 as day's end came to the little town of Matawan. 



At St. Peter's Hospital, Dr. Faulkingham was quietly, skillfully tend- 

 ing the wounds of Joseph Dunn. Newspapers had already reported that 

 Joseph's leg would undoubtedly have to be amputated. But Dr. Faulking- 

 ham didn't have time to read the newspapers. He had sutured Joseph's 

 severed tendon and ripped muscles, and a slow, uncertain recovery be- 

 gan. It would be 59 days before Joseph Dunn would walk out of St. 

 Peter's Hospital, but walk he would, on two strong legs. 



